


Don't Cry, Romeo

by carefully_careless



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Aka: One of my favorite things, And makes brownies. What's not to love?, Bisexual Jeremy Heere, Eric is mean, F/F, Homophobia, Just throw the whole SQUIP out, Lightweight Jeremy, M/M, Michael's mom is trying her best, Mr. Heere wants the best for Jeremy, Rich!Jeremy, She's an angel, Weird AU thing, Where's Rich?, michael is smooooth, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefully_careless/pseuds/carefully_careless
Summary: Jeremy "Corporal Hotshot" Heere, praised in the media and shackled at home, wants more than anything to be who he is without the pressure of ~expectations~.Maybe the hot guy with the cool Pac Man tattoo can help with that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, yeah. The summary is awful.  
> TW: Homophobia, mention of conversion therapy, brink of a panic attack

“Smile,” the photographer coos, popping her head up from behind her equipment. Instantly, Jeremy obeys, giving the camera a brilliantly wide beam. He tries not to squint against the blinding lights, though it isn’t too much of a challenge. With years of grinning for millions of camera lenses and forcing himself to look alive and excited under searing lights, Jeremy finds no trouble in a mere photoshoot.  
  
Beside the photographer, shrouded in shadows, Eric squints at Jeremy. “Smile wider,” he says through grit teeth, which sends prickles of annoyance down Jeremy’s spine. No matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries to conform to his idea of perfection, it’s never enough for Eric. Maybe it’s because he’s Jeremy’s father’s advisor, maybe it’s because Eric is literally a demon from the fiery pits of hell.  
  
Okay, not literally, but Jeremy had quite an imagination when his dad hired Eric.  
  
That’s beside the point.  
  
The heat of the studio and the many pairs of eyes watching him makes the sleek black suit feel even tighter on Jeremy’s skin, a layer of sweat forming on his brow.  
  
“This should be enough,” the photographer mumbles, signaling for her assistant to turn off the two brightest lights. As the room falls to regular light, Jeremy feels his face fall, cheeks sore from pretending to be happy about being featured in…What magazine is it this week? “Do you mind if we have a quick interview?” The photographer asks, not seeming to wait for an answer as she dives into her bag and pulls out a worn notebook.  
  
Forcing himself not to say anything stupid, Jeremy plasters on a fake grin. “Of course.”  
  
Pulling up a metal chair, she sits, gesturing for Jeremy to do the same. “So, Mr. Heere-,”  
  
“Jeremy, please,” Jeremy cuts in, just the way Eric taught him to do.  
  
“Jeremy,” the photographer amends herself, “now that you’re nearing 24 and advancing in your career, what can we expect in terms of your plans for your father’s company?”  
  
Flicking his eyes to Eric, Jeremy tries to read his advisor. Deflect the question or answer it? Seeing the tiny nod Eric gives, Jeremy goes for the latter. “I plan to expand our horizons here at S.Q.U.I.P. Industries to increase revenue. I also believe that routine donations to various charities are in order.” Eric doesn’t look too pissed off at his answer, so Jeremy takes it as a success.  
  
“Wonderful,” the woman mutters, copying down his answer, “Now,” she begins with the hint of a smirk. “When will we be introduced to a girlfriend?”  
  
Pressing his lips together, Jeremy ignores Eric’s burning glare asking the same question.  
  
Or boyfriend, he thinks to himself. People are gay, Linda.  
  
“As much as I would love to introduce someone to the world, I’m focusing on my work as of right now.”  
  
Eric lifts an eyebrow, though Jeremy pretends not to see it. The photographer nods, satisfied. “Last question. On a more personal note, what do you think about the disappearance of Richard Goranski?”  
  
The name sends chills down Jeremy’s spine. When will they let this story drop? It’s almost been 5 months since Rich ran away and, honestly, Jeremy can’t blame him at all. Originally, it had started out with Rich’s dad forcing him to be something he wasn’t, which Jeremy can highly relate to. Being Mr. Heere’s “third in command”, Mr. Goranski was a true monster who wanted Rich to be just like him.  
  
Then, when Mr. Goranski found out about Rich’s…secret, he was pissed. Jeremy remembers the night he woke up to Rich’s ringtone, the discreet instrumental of “Bye, Bye, Bye”.  
  
……..  
  
_“Hey, Rich, what’s up?”_  
  
_“He found out,” Rich rasps from the other side of the line, voice thick with tears and quick breaths. Jeremy is instantly sitting up, leaning his elbows onto his knees. He knows the sound of his friend about to have a panic attack like the back of his hand._  
  
_“Deep breaths, Rich. Breathe with me, okay?” As Jeremy takes several breaths, he feels the racing of his own heart slowing slightly. On the phone, it sounds like Rich is okay for the time being. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Jeremy runs a hand through the light brown curls the media worshipped. “What did he find out. Who’s he?”_  
  
_“M-My dad,” Rich stutters. “He found out I’m b-bi,” Rich explains, hints of his lisp coming to light despite those long years of speech therapy he went through. “I don’t know how but he was yelling and he said something about-,” his voice drops and it sounds as though he forces back a shiver. “conversion therapy. You know those camps?”_  
  
_Jeremy’s heart drops into his stomach. The unspoken looms over the two. The people that go in there are never the same. It’s the most inhuman way to react to your child not being your idea of perfect. It would ruin Rich._  
_“I can’t go,” Rich murmurs. “I-I have to get out of here.”_  
  
_Deciding to go against every lesson Eric ever shoved down Jeremy’s throat, Jeremy lifts his head._  
  
_“Let me help you.”_  
  
………  
  
“No comment,” Jeremy says quickly, evading the question. Looking slightly disappointed, the photographer shoves her stuff into her messenger bag.  
  
“Thank you for the interview, Jeremy.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jeremy says instantly, fake sincerity coloring his tone. As the photographer goes to pack up her camera, Eric crosses his arms and Jeremy stands, awaiting the criticism.  
  
“They were right about the girlfriend,” he deadpans in that annoying Keanu Reeves drag, putting special emphasis on the last word. Rolling his eyes, Jeremy follows Eric into the hall of the office building.  
  
“I’m perfectly fine,” Jeremy lies smoothly. “Besides-,”  
  
“You know I don’t approve of your little…phase, but I do think getting a girlfriend would be beneficial. Might get the media off of your back about the issue until we…sort things out.”  
  
Scoffing, Jeremy lets his fingers trail along the window. “There’s nothing that needs to be sorted out, Eric.”  
  
Gritting his teeth, Eric bites out a response. “Contrary to your beliefs, Jeremy, there is. You’re getting a girlfriend.”  
  
“The hell I am, Eric.”  
  
“Fake or not,” Eric continues, words icy and short. “You never know. She might just fix you.”  
  
Fix him? Balling his fists, Jeremy shifts in his suit. Normally, he would never be so gutsy as to talk back like he has been, but “You know what might fix you? Getting your head out of your-,”  
  
“Jeremiah,” Eric snaps, fire burning in his eyes. Jeremy smiles innocently in response, happy that he can have such an effect on the man.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
………..  
  
Still glowering, Eric stalks down the hall to Mr. Heere’s office, Jeremy trailing behind, remnants of a smug smile still on his lips. Right outside of the heavy wooden door, though, Eric stops short, turning and glaring daggers into Jeremy. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are curled downwards, but hey! What else is new?  
  
“What did I do this time?” Jeremy sighs, trying to keep the shaking out of his voice. Over the years, he had gotten his anxiety in check, with no thanks to professional help, for when he was interviewed or photographed or literally anywhere. Mainly, he went on help groups and, of course, Tumblr is a thing, so he had people. The point is, even though he could word a response for an interviewer perfectly, nothing scared him like an angry Eric.  
  
“You know where Richard is,” Eric hisses, the accusation meant to strike Jeremy low. Jeremy feels the blood draining from his face and his jaw going slack before he picks himself up once more.  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Don’t lie to me,” Eric growls lowly, sending shivers down Jeremy’s back.  
  
“I’m not,” Jeremy says innocently. It’s the truth, too. Jeremy knows where he saw Rich last and how he helped him run away, as well as where he’s staying, but he doesn’t know where he is currently, per se. He could be at the store. Maybe at McDonald's. He can be anywhere.  
  
Eric scoffs, shoving the door open. “Hello, Mr. Heere,” he calls out, instantly brightening. Jeremy calls fake.  
  
“Good afternoon, Eric.” Jeremy’s dad replies from his desk. As his eyes raise to the pair, Mr. Heere’s eyes light up. “Hello, Jeremy.”  
  
“Hey, Dad,” Jeremy greets, forcing a smile.  
  
“How was your shoot”  
  
Jeremy bites back a sigh as he leans his side against the wall. “Good.”  
  
Mr. Heere goes to speak before Eric interrupts him. “Sir, your appointment will be here soon.”  
  
Mr. Heere grimaces in response, standing. “Jeremy, I forgot to tell you. You’ll be taking over S.Q.U.I.P soon and…I know I taught you the good, but you also have to learn the bad.”  
  
Furrowing his eyebrows, Jeremy leans away from the wall, taking his hands out of his pockets and nervously cracking his knuckles. “What does that mean? …Dad?”  
  
“You have to practice firing people. It’s…a necessary evil.”  
  
Jeremy goes numb. Hiring someone? That was a somewhat enjoyable lesson, to be honest. To see the man’s eyes light up and his shoulders sag with relief. Now he has to watch as someone…someone with a family to support? Watch them get laid off? Shoulders sagging for another reason entirely?  
  
He can’t do it.  
  
“Dad, I can’t-,”  
  
“Jeremy, I know you don’t want to. I don’t either, but it’s instrumental to a perfectly functioning company.”  
  
Shaking his head, Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Dad, please, I just-,”  
  
“Jeremy,” Mr. Heere sighs, hints of exhaustion in his voice.  
  
Pressing his lips together, Jeremy curses every single person in the office building. Every single photographer or reporter that put his face on a stupid magazine. Eric for being awful and his mom for leaving and-  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
……….  
  
Jeremy feels his heart pump out of his chest as he anxiously plays with the cap of his pen. The man he’s supposed to be firing would be here any moment and Jeremy prepares to ruin a life.  
  
“Don’t think about it like that,” he whispers to himself, thumbing a random stack of papers. As his eyes travel the empty room, his mind begins to wander. This, of course, is cut off by the sound of a knock on the door, hesitant sounding. “Come in,” he calls out, his mouth feeling like cotton.  
  
The door swings open as a man in about his late thirties shuffles in, face pale and lips thin. He wears a simple business suit and his hair is gelled carelessly to the side.  
  
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Heere?” He inquires with a shaky voice and Jeremy tries not to cringe.  
  
“Yes, Mr.-,” he pauses for a second to remember his name. “Mr. Hawkins. Please sit down.”  
  
Nervously, the man, Garrett Hawkins, pulls out the chair and sits on the edge.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Mr. Hawkins, though we highly appreciate your eagerness to work, we believe that your talents lie elsewhere.”  
  
Great. One sentence in and the man’s eyes are saucers and Jeremy feels terrible. “U-Um,” he falters, mentally chiding himself for stuttering. “We ask that the clearing out of your office be done by tomorrow evening if at all possible.”  
  
Mr. Hawkins’ face is that of hopelessness. “Mr. Heere, I-,” he looks down, dark brown eyes skating over the desk. Finally, he looks up, a resigned smile on his lips. “Thank you for hiring me and giving me the opportunity.”  
  
“Thank you for working with us,” Jeremy responds gently, watching as the man sighs, stands, and leaves the room.  
  
Staring at the door, trying not to focus on the storm of raging self-loathing in his chest, Jeremy feels hot tears slide over his skin. All too soon, he’s hunched over, sobbing until his throat is raw.  
  
Nobody comes in, which he is thankful for, but then the anger takes hold of him. Storming out of the room, Jeremy needs to get to his “office”, a spare room near the top floor that used to be his play area when he was a kid that was turning into a practice office.  
  
As he passes his father’s office, the door opens. “Oh! Jeremy! How did it…?”  
  
Jeremy had already passed, sporting his red, tear-soaked face proudly with his head held high, ignoring his dad.  
  
…………..  
  
Where to go…  
  
Where to go…  
  
Jeremy leans his palms against the window sill, glancing out over the city that grows dimmer by the minute. One more second in this corporal death trap and he might explode. He needs to get out. Preferably, go somewhere that Eric would disapprove of.  
  
It’s not that Jeremy hates his dad, he knows that deep down, Mr. Heere thinks he’s doing the right thing, but he can’t escape feeling trapped. When he was a kid, Jeremy loved the idea of being just like his dad. He couldn’t wait to be big and smart and powerful, just like Daddy, right?  
  
Now, years later, Jeremy wants nothing more than to be free, live unbridled and do what he wants, not what the man in the suit wants.  
  
So, as his eyes dance from building to building down below, he contemplates everything.  
  
Jeremy smirks as his eyes land on a certain place.  
  
Wrapped in a cloudy haze tinted red in bright light, the theater sits pretty and lively as ever. He would never admit it to his dad, let alone Eric, but he genuinely loves that place. The lights and the energy of it all, the excitement and talent all holed up in one place? Magical. Eric had allowed Jeremy to go to a few shows. He said it would “culture him” or something like that, and Jeremy rolled with it. Of course, this stopped soon after Eric noticed Jeremy checking the listings eagerly. Wouldn’t want Mr. Perfect to have other interests, would we, Eric?  
  
Beside the theater, Eve’s Bar catches Jeremy’s attention. Of course, there’s the fact that he’s never touched alcohol (People go to bars when they feel like this, right? Or is that straight alcoholism?), but Jeremy figures that there’s a first for everything.  
  
Full on grinning, Jeremy slips into more fitting clothes, tugs on his jacket, and racks his brain for the secret exit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy has his first drink and meets a certain someone  
> Also known as: Y'all were right.

With every step on the hard pavement, Jeremy feels his muscles loosening. The city lights drown out a majority of the stars, but that’s fine. It’s what Jeremy knows. As he walks, brisk and free, nobody talks to him. Either nobody knows him or nobody cares, which he loves. It’s nice to have some time to himself, not having to worry about what Eric would think. He’s just totally and completely…  
  
No. Not free. He’s never free. He’s just getting a taste of something that will never be.  
  
Shaking that thought off, Jeremy tugs his coat tighter, trying his best to keep his hands covered from the biting cool wind. It’s nearly the end of November. To any other generally young human, this would mean looking forward to being with family and friends, enjoying a home-cooked meal, and celebrating the holidays. To Jeremy, this means practicing his smile for the annual office Christmas party. It really isn’t even that festive. It’s just a bunch of know-it-all-higher-ups talking about business plans whilst sipping some drink around a bright tree. His father makes a speech with Jeremy standing next to him, a statue under many eyes. Of course, the ones that are always on him, Eric’s, weigh the most.  
  
Jeremy lets his pace slow and he observes the crowd on the sidewalk thickening and, in his heart, a warmth blooms. The theater. That special place that he always considered himself rooted to, even if he can count the times he’s been there on one hand. The bright lights display the showing of the night, which Jeremy reads avidly.  
  
Showing tonight: “And They Walk” starring Christine Canigula.  
  
Jeremy smiles slightly at the name. Christine Canigula, the girl that wowed talent agents and crowds alike. He had seen her once in a play and she left him speechless. Her devotion to the art was nearly tangible, putting her all into every performance.  
  
The night he saw her, Jeremy typed her name into the Google search bar, trying to find out about any future projects and later bought a magazine for the sole purpose of seeing her name in the small print below the headline.  
  
Blinking, Jeremy wonders if he should spend his night out watching this play, before remembering the whole idea of sneaking out. Rebelling. This certainly wouldn’t do, as Eric’s words of “culturing” Jeremy echo in his head. Jeremy wants to do something that Eric would never approve of, if only he can live for a few hours.  
  
Then he shall return to hell.  
  
So, to the bar he walks.  
  
…………  
  
Elbowing the door open, Jeremy is hit with a blast of warm air. Part from the transition of cold to hot, part being the number of people in the building giving off heat. Already feeling nervous and awkward in his own skin, Jeremy tiptoes through the crowd, eyes stuck to the floor as he edges to what he assumes is the bar area.  
  
He comes up to a countertop, sticky with liquids gone uncleaned. A few metal stools that scream “I LIVE IN AN INDUSTRIAL BUILDING IN SOHO AND I THINK I’M EDGY!” are spread out before the counter and behind it stands a man wiping a glass dry.  
  
His chin is covered in dark stubble and he has a small scar, white against the deep brown of his skin, trailing an inch from the edge of his mouth.  
  
The man wears a collared shirt with the top buttons undone, most likely to attract tips. He seems to notice the standing duck. He tries at a smile, hazel eyes twinkling, before going back to his work.  
  
Gaining a bit more confidence, Jeremy comes closer, sliding onto a seat.  
  
The man sets down the glass, looking up. Upon closer inspection, he can’t be more than 30. “Hi,” he grins with charm, “what can I get you?”  
  
Jeremy reads the nametag, Mechi, sounding it out in his head. Mee-chee.  
  
“Uh, w-what’s the weakest thing you have?” Great way to sound cool, Heere.  
  
Mechi smirks. “We have water.” He pauses, eyes flicking down under the bar. “Oh, and apple juice.”  
  
Slightly taken aback, Jeremy feels the corners of his mouth turning down. “Um…?”  
  
Mechi squints in amusement, leaning his elbows on the counter. “You’re a newbie, huh?”  
  
“What?”  
“Oh, my god. It’s so totally obvious. You’ve never had a drink.” His voice is that of awe and surprise.  
  
“Yeah, I wanted to start off with-,” Before Jeremy can continue, Mechi turns, reaching up for a glass bottle of…something Jeremy can’t read. He grabs a small shot glass and fills it to the brim before whirling around and sliding it to Jeremy.  
  
“Drink up.”  
  
Jeremy holds up his hands, nervously eyeing the drink.  
  
“Come on,” Mechi continues. “Gotta start with a bang.” He lets Jeremy think for a few more seconds before leaning forward even more. “It’s on meeeee,” he sings, eyes crinkling at the edges. Quickly, he shakes his head, easy smile replacing the one that previously rested on his lips. “Nah, man, I ain’t about making people do stuff they don’t want to—Oh, okay.” He watches as Jeremy coughs, sputtering as he drops the shot glass like it hurts.  
  
Jeremy cringes as the burning liquid slides down his throat, feeling the liquid in his stomach. It was almost like after you drink something hot like tea, just with a much more bitter effect.  
  
“Ugh,” he groans, wondering if he should take up the apple juice offer just to get rid of the awful taste and Mechi laughs, sliding the glass off of the table.  
  
“Went right in for it, didn’t you?” Mechi chuckles as he watches Jeremy swallow continuously.  
  
“That,” Jeremy begins, throat still burning, “is the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted in my entire life.” But, for once, Jeremy feels happy. That on-the-edge-of-free feeling bubbling in his chest. He wouldn’t think of himself as that much of a lightweight, but he feels light. Maybe it’s just the idea of having flicked off every teaching Eric ever threw at him. “Gimme another.”  
  
………  
Somewhere between the coughing and the chugging of water and the light feeling in his chest and head increasing, Jeremy sees someone sit on the stool next to him in his peripheral vision. Flicking his eyes to the right, he expects to see some random person, possibly some dude that got laid off and wants to drink his sorrows away.  
  
Turning his head fully, he gets to rake his eyes over the guy and…  
  
Jesus Christ…  
  
Holy hell…  
  
Jeremy, in his influenced state, begins to think an actual angel sat next to him. The guy, not looking too far from his age, has light mocha skin and a twinkle inside a pair of dark eyes. His hair, nearly black, is windblown and messed up, like he woke up like that. God, he probably did. He’s definitely one of those people that can roll out of bed looking like an actual deity.  
  
Tongue tied, Jeremy can’t rip his eyes away from the mystery guy and the way his black jacket makes him look unfairly hot, or the way the man smiles at him-  
  
Oops. Realizing he had, in fact, been staring directly at Mr. Handsome, Jeremy mentally chastises himself. As the man smiles politely at Jeremy, which really doesn’t help his case, he taps his finger on the counter.  
  
Forcing his eyes down, Jeremy gnaws on the inside of his cheek, trying to get his thoughts together. You’ve met a thousand handsome men in your line of…work. You can handle sitting next to a ray of sunshine for a small bit. But it doesn’t really help at all that when the man speaks, his voice is smooth and perfect. “Snakebite, please,” Jeremy hears the man say to Mechi, who turns and begins fixing the drink.  
  
The presence of the man is inescapable as Jeremy begins fiddling with his thumbs, his heart racing. He probably shouldn’t open his mouth. Like, at all. Sure, he only had 3 shots, but he can already feel like a wimp. He’d probably sound like he just got out of surgery or something.  
  
“Hi,” he hears before realizing with a jolt that it’s directed at him. Jeremy quickly looks up at Mr. Handsome before stuttering out a small greeting.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
Great job sounding smooth, Jeremy. He isn’t sure if it’s his own voice scolding him in his head or Eric. “I-I mean, hey. How are you?” Good. Keep the conversation going, right?  
  
Mr. Handsome laughs, which makes the butterflies in Jeremy’s stomach swarm uncontrollably. Digest them, Heere. “Decent. You?”  
  
Jeremy would like to think it’s the alcohol that lets him open his mouth and answer. “I’ve been better.”  
  
Mr. Handsome nods, graciously taking his drink from Mechi and lifting the glass. “I’ll definitely toast to that.”  
  
Panicking, Jeremy glances down at his empty shot glass, but shrugs. He clinks the glasses together and Mr. Handsome seems to notice the empty cup.  
  
“U-Um,” he says quickly, sounding nervous, which surprises Jeremy. “Would you like a drink?”  
  
Jeremy huffs a laugh, trying his best to wipe the sweat from the palms of his hands. Was this god actually offering to buy him a drink? Hooooly- “I should probably stay away from the shots.”  
  
“I feel you,” the man answers with a chuckle. He trails his finger around the rim of his glass. “I suggest this.”  
  
Curiously, Jeremy leans towards the man, studying the liquid. It looks odd, a transition of brown to white. “What’s in it?”  
  
“Oh, it’s…You know, I’m not really sure,” he mutters, more to himself than anything. “It’s good, though.”  
  
“O-Okay,” Jeremy says with a grin and Mr. Handsome beams, looking relieves. Jeremy tries desperately to blame the heat in his face on the number of people in the bar.  
  
“Can I get another one of these?” Mr. Handsome speaks up to the bartender and Mechi nods, giving Jeremy a knowing wink. “So,” Mr. Handsome says in a quieter voice to Jeremy, “you have a name?”  
  
Jeremy wonders if he should pinch himself. All he wanted to do tonight was stick it to the man, but he’s beginning to get more than he could have imagined. Say, a hot guy buying him a drink and asking his name? “Jeremy,” he answers, watching as Mr. Handsome mouths it to himself. Perhaps getting the feel of it. Finally, that gorgeous face breaks into another smile.  
  
“It suits you.” He reaches out a hand, which Jeremy takes. Please don’t let it be obvious that he’s shaking. Mr. Handsome opens his mouth to speak again. “I’m Michael.”  
  
Michael. It fits him like a glove. Now, Jeremy can’t place any other name on him. Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael.  
  
He nods, smiling as the nerves slip away bit by bit.  
  
Soon, the drink that Michael had gotten—God, even thinking his name is heavenly—is placed in front of him and Jeremy picks the glass up, examining the sides.  
  
“Trust me,” he hears from beside him and he does. Bottoms up.  
  
All he can say is that it tastes a lot better than the shots Mechi had served him.  
  
Nodding, Jeremy swallows. “Yeah. A lot better. Thanks.”  
  
Michael smirks. “Glad to have been of assistance. I take thanks in cash,” he adds jokingly and Jeremy laughs, taking another sip of the…what was it called? Snakebite?  
  
“So,” Jeremy starts, feeling significantly brave, “what are you into?”  
  
Michael presses his lips together, ducking his head. “Disclaimer: I’m not as cool as you might think.”  
  
Impossible. “Try me,” Jeremy responds with a smile.  
  
“In fact, I’m quite the nerd.”  
  
Jeremy cocks is head, setting down his cup. “A nerd with a great taste in alcoholic drinks. C’mon.”  
  
“Well, I’m a video game hoe,” Michael explains, trying to keep a straight face.  
  
“Oh?” Jeremy murmurs, leaning his elbows onto the table to rest his head on his fist. Not feeling nearly as nervous as before, Jeremy doesn’t know whether to blame that on the alcohol or actually talking to the guy and knowing he isn’t THAT intimidating. Maybe a mixture of the two.  
  
“Yeah. I’m a die-hard Pac Man stan and play Apocalypse of the Damned religiously.”  
  
Jesus Christ, could this guy get any better? Jeremy recalls hours of free time spent in front of his tv slaying zombies. Of course, Eric disagreed, but Jeremy’s father used to play video games like AotD, so he was more than happy to let Jeremy.  
  
“Really?” Jeremy nearly squeals before calming himself. “What level are you on?”  
  
“11,” Michael answers, seeming to be excited that Jeremy related. “You?”  
  
“Dude, I can’t get past level 9. It’s hard as hell.” Silently cursing himself at the innuendo, he listens as Michael shakes his head.  
  
“Nah, man. Once you get past the big group of zombies, it’s easy. You just have to sync up with their walking.” He pauses, a sly smirk on his face. “Maybe someday I can help you get past it. I’m sure it’s a ton easier in two-player mode.”  
  
“Oh, y-yeah,” Jeremy answers in surprise. This is flirting. This has to be flirting. How is this not flirting?  
  
“You wanna see something cool?” Michael asks, smiling over the top of his glass. Isn’t this the opening line in a crappy porno?  
  
“Obviously,” Jeremy answers, interest piqued as he takes a long sip.  
  
Michael sets his cup down and Jeremy catches Mechi watching the two from the other side of the bar with a smirk. Ignoring the potential teasing, he turns his attention to Michael, who rolls up his sleeve to reveal a totally awesome Pac Man tattoo trailing down his forearm.  
  
Wow. That is a nice forearm.  
  
Right. Tattoo. Pac Man. Riiight.  
  
“That’s. So. Cool.”  
  
“I know right?”  
  
So, they talk. And they drink. And…they drink. Probably too much on Jeremy’s side, because about 2 hours after he walked in, his mind is fogged over and his filter and nerves are gone. He feels something in his telling him not to refer to Michael as Mr. Handsome again, so he doesn’t. He finds out that Michael enjoys Pink Floyd and The Neighborhood and…cool dude stuff and Jeremy admits that he listens to musicals. You know, like a nerd. Then again, Michael seems to be enthusiastic as Jeremy slurs the plot to Heathers, so it can’t possibly be that big of a lose.  
  
They laugh at jokes that really wouldn’t be considered funny to anyone sober and share stories. Jeremy learns about the time Michael got a note sent home in 3rd grade from his math teacher about his home life and his two moms. He had listened when his mother cursed the teacher’s note out in Tagalog. The next day, he proudly stood up and repeated every word. At first, the teacher was marveled at the small boy speaking in a foreign language, but Google Translate gave her a rude awakening.  
  
Jeremy told Michael about the first time he saw a lunar eclipse when he was 7 and ran into his dad’s night meeting screaming, “THE MOON IS BLEEDING!”  
  
Eventually, Jeremy considers himself head over heels for Michael. How could he not? This dude’s a 6’5” majesty with the coolest tattoo ever.  
  
Laughing, Michael reaches over, a bit under the influence himself, and taking what remains in Jeremy’s cup and draining it. “I think that’s quite enough for you.”  
  
“No,” Jeremy insists, but lets Michael slide the empty glass down the bar to where Mechi stands and drags a line along his neck. Okay, fine. No more for Jeremy.  
  
“Do you need an Uber?” Michael asks, taking his phone out of his jacket pocket.  
  
“Nope. I have an Evan,” Jeremy slurs, stating the name of his butler/chauffeur. If he called him, the sleek black car would be out front in a matter of minutes. Perks of being rich, I guess. Oh, and Evan and Jeremy have an agreement. Eric wouldn’t find out about Jeremy’s little outing.  
  
At the name, though, Michael deflates, nodding to himself. “Right,” he mutters. Sucking in a breath, he gives Jeremy what looks like a fake smile. “Do you mind if I call him? Or would he not want to know about…?”  
  
“Nah, call him. Tell him to come pick me up and not to let Eric know.”  
  
“Okay,” Michael whispers and accepts the phone being handed to him. He searches through the contacts, looking at names that look…very fancy. At the top, where the self information is, he reads the name Jeremy Heere. Huh. Why does that sound familiar?  
  
Finally finding and clicking on the contact named “Evan”, Michael presses the call button. After two rings, this Evan dude picks up.  
  
“Good evening, sir. Where shall I pick you up?”  
  
Slightly puzzled at the formality of which Evan spoke to him, Michael clears his throat, eyeing Jeremy. “Uh, hi. I’m a friend of Jeremy’s and he’s--like—really drunk. He told me to call you and tell you to pick him up at the…,” he pauses, trying to remember the name of the bar, “The bar on 34th street. The one beside the theater? Eve’s! Eve’s Bar.”  
  
On the other side of the line, Evan chuckles. He sounds a bit older. “It’s nice that he’s out with a friend. You said the bar was on 34th?”  
  
After confirming the location and hanging up, Michael concludes that that definitely wasn’t a boyfriend.  
  
Across from him, Jeremy watches.  
  
“Well,” Michael says, standing up. “Let’s go wait for him outside, shall we?”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Jeremy agrees, letting Michael wrap an arm around him for support. Really, he shouldn’t even be walking. God, he’s such a lightweight.  
  
They work their way through the crowd, Michael doing all the work. Jeremy leans flush against him, trying his best to walk, but ending up stumbling at best. As they exit the bar, the cool air of the night fill their lungs and Jeremy feels himself cool off. Had he really been that hot in there? You know what? It was probably just Michael.  
  
It doesn’t take long for Evan to arrive in the driver’s seat of a black Mercedes after a few moments of comfortable silence between Michael and Jeremy. The man looks about mid-40s with a cleanly shaved face. His hair looks like it was buzzed and then grown out, which is interesting. The window at the passenger’s seat rolls down and Jeremy smiles toothily.  
  
“Hey, my dude,” he says quickly, slipping out of Michael’s arm and opening the door. Before he gets in, though, he turns and flat out hugs Michael, who freezes before slowly melting.  
  
“Thanks, dude. You made this day a hell of a lot better. Remind me to get your number sometime.”  
  
Before Michael can object and maybe get a number, Jeremy is in the car and it’s rolling away. Michael is left to ponder why the name Jeremy Heere sounded so familiar.  
  
In the car, Jeremy is relatively quiet, making a few random observations every thousand feet or so. By the time they arrive at the driveway of his house, a mansion more like, he feels a bit clearer in the head. Just a small bit though. What he knows for sure is that the front door is open and there’s a figure standing.  
  
Jeremy recognizes the silhouette as Eric and, upon further inspection, he looks absolutely pissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this took me five thousand forevers to write. It's not that i took a long time writing, but...wow i went through a low.  
> Irrelevant, I saw Fall out boy live and the emo from years ago was crying inside of me.  
> I've been typing for hours and i cannot feel my fingers  
> Sorry for the delay. Next chapter hopefully won't take so long.  
> As always, thank you so much for reading. Validation in the form of kudos and comments are always deeply appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call out post @ Eric, basically

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warnings: Mention of panic attacks and vomit  
> Wowee was this overdue

When Jeremy wakes up, he is aware of three things consecutively. 1. The headache pounding mercilessly against his temples, 2. The nausea churning his stomach, and 3. The sound of someone rummaging around in his room.  
  
Letting out a weak groan, he rolls over, shielding his closed eyes from the sun shining into the room. “Good morning,” he hears Evan chirp, followed by the sound of a closet door closing. “I assume you’d like some Aspirin?”  
  
“Please,” Jeremy whimpers, not taking his first hangover too well. His throat burns and memories of puking his guts up flash in his brain. At least it’s all out of his system. He lets out a small cough at the horrid taste in his mouth and braves sitting up.  
  
Though the world sways just a bit and his headache intensifies, he is able to slowly work his way out of the layers of blankets. By the time he’s standing upright, Evan slides through the open door and deposits a glass of water and tiny pill onto the desk.  
  
“You might not remember, but last night Mr. Eric requested that you…recover this morning before he speaks to you.”  
  
Ah, so that’s what the residual dread prickling in his chest can be blamed on. Him.  
  
He grunts out an affirmation before popping the pill. How long exactly would this take to work?  
  
Grabbing his phone from the bedside table, Jeremy notices that Evan had put it on charge while he literally put Jeremy to bed like a five-year-old child. He might have to talk to his dad about a pay raise for this dude.  
  
Staring at the loading screen, Jeremy presses his lips together. It’s like something is trying to push itself to the front of his memory, but he can’t grasp it. The only thing his can somewhat grab onto is a name. Michael. Deeming it as a problem for later, Jeremy answers a few emails that were expected over 12 hours ago at most. Whoops.  
  
Turning and seeing that Evan had left, Jeremy works himself up to getting dressed. Step 1. Ignore the clothes folded on the dresser. All respect to Evan, but if dressing like a normal person is gonna irk Eric even more, why the hell not? Step 2. Oh god, don’t throw up all over the carpet. Keep it down, Heere. Step 3. Walk to the closet. You can walk. You can most definitely walk. Step 4. Throw together bits and pieces of clothing the Eric would never put him in.  
  
Done. Standing in front of the mirror, he applauds himself. Jeans riddled with frays, a t-shirt with an obscure reference to a band he liked, and a flannel shirt. He isn’t sure why he had any of this in his closet, being fairly sure Eric wouldn’t let him keep it if he knew…which means he doesn’t. Oh, this man is in for a surprise.  
  
It seems that the Advil is beginning to work, as the pain in his head had dulled to an ache. Jeremy sighs, running a hand through greasy hair. He really should have taken a shower. Oh, well.  
  
As his hand closes around the cold metal of the doorknob, two things come to him. One of which is hesitation. He already showed a wave of rebellion. Does he want to go any further? Should he just take the punishment in his stride and continue on with life, forever smiling because he was able to escape for a night? Or does he have to take all of this? Could he do what Rich did? Is that really a possibility?  
  
Completely forgetting whatever second thing came to mind, he rolls his shoulders and holds his head and chest high like he would in a conference.  
  
“Let’s go,” he whispers to himself.  
  
………….  
  
As he descends the stairs, he can feel the rage emitting from Eric before he can even see him and, oh boy, now that he can, it makes the scene a million times scarier.  
  
“Good morning, Jeremy,” Eric says coolly from across the room, arms crossed as he sneers.  
  
“That it is,” Jeremy replies drily, eyes falling to narrow for a split second before he gathers the courage to continue down the stairs.  
  
“Did you have fun on your little outing last night?” Eric asks as Jeremy gets nearer.  
  
“Absolutely,” Jeremy smirks before gesturing to the set table in the opposite room. “Breakfast?”  
  
Though he doesn’t see Eric clench both his jaw and his fists, he knows he did as Jeremy saunters out of the foyer and into the dining room. The table has been laid with only two spots, which means that Jeremy’s dad has already left for work. The comically long table is lined with chairs, though it’s rare there are random parties at the mansion itself. They’re usually held in the office lobby or something.  
  
Beating Eric to the table, Jeremy sits at the head of it, glancing down at a plate of scrambled eggs, French toast, and ham. The sight and smell mixed together makes his stomach growl and he wastes no time in slipping his fork into the soft, fluffy eggs.  
  
In the time that he eats, Jeremy doesn’t look up. He doesn’t really want to. He knows that Eric, sitting at the last chair on the left side, has not even looked at his food. Jeremy can feel his eyes boring into him and, frankly, he’s perfectly fine with procrastinating meeting Eric’s eyes.  
  
Maybe the weight just crushed him, though, because by the time his French toast is half gone, Jeremy sighs and straightens up. “Eric,” he says directly, his voice scratchy in his throat, “I know you’re mad and-,”  
  
“Mad?!” Eric explodes, slamming his hands down on the table and letting the utensils clink together. Jeremy flinches at how loud he is. “You think I’m mad? Mad is what I was when I heard you walked out of the office room crying, so how do you think I felt when someone tipped me off that Jeremiah Heere, my responsibility, is at a bar? Hanging all over some guy, no less?”  
  
Some guy? Would that be the name that came to his head? Michael? Could that be the foreign laughter playing in his head? The butterflies swarming at the memory of that? It takes Jeremy a few seconds to realize that Eric had resumed talking. Yelling, more like.  
  
“How do you think I felt when I had to pay good money to have them delete the picture and then, come to find out, it wasn’t pro editing! You weren’t in your room, or anywhere for that matter! Then Evan mysteriously darts and you come home drunk as hell and puking up everything on these damn floors? If you guessed ‘beyond pissed’, then ding, ding, ding! You’re right!”  
  
Jeremy waits for Eric to calm down, but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen any time soon. Those sharp, furious eyes burn hotter than blue fire and Jeremy steels himself enough to stand his ground.  
  
“Have you ever thought, for once, that I don’t want this? To be paraded around and forced into a profession I don’t give rat’s-,”  
  
“Jeremiah,” Eric snaps, a warning clear in his voice.  
  
“Have you ever thought,” Jeremy continues, sitting straighter in his chair, “that I don’t want any of this? At all?”  
  
“Of course, I have,” Eric grinds out. “You make it quite obvious, but the thing is? I don’t care. This is what I was hired for and I’m sure as hell going to do my job.” The finality in his voice gives Jeremy the chills as he completely abandons his breakfast.  
  
Jeremy blinks at his words before leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “Am I even a person to you?” He says quietly, severely. The anger in Eric’s features gives way to confusion.  
  
“What?” Eric asks incredulously.  
  
“Am I a person to you? Or am I just a figurine for you to move around and get paid?”  
  
“Jeremiah, you know that’s not-,”  
  
“Do I, Eric? Do I? Because in the twelve damn years you’ve been here, you never once cared about me or my feelings. I was just there for you to mold into some impossibly perfect version of you.” Eric stares with lifted brows as Jeremy goes off. “You don’t care about anything when it comes to me. The real me, not the twisted version you conjured.”  
  
Eric lifts his head and begins to speak, but Jeremy quickly cuts him off. “No. Don’t even start. Don’t say ‘It isn’t my job to care about you’. It isn’t. I know that. But there were things that could have easily affected your job and you just didn’t care. How about the anxiety? Or the panic attacks? My stutter? Funny how they all started after you came along. You never thought about me until you somehow found out I was gay. Then, you made it your business. You’re a sorry excuse for a human being and I hope you burn in hell.”  
  
The silence is thick with tension, the simmering anger from both sides nearly tangible. Slowly, Eric speaks. “You realize that in your actions last night, you spit on everything we’ve been working for? Your future, your father, his company?”  
  
“You’ve been working for,” Jeremy corrects him coolly. “Everything you’ve been working for, Eric. And in case you haven’t noticed? I’m 21. I’m an adult. I went to a bar like any other normal 21-year-old.”  
  
“What you did was make your father and I look foolish.”  
  
Jeremy scoffs. “Trust me, you do that on your own.”  
  
Eric rolls his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, Mr. Heere,” he says mockingly, “you aren’t a normal 21-year-old. You are in line to inherit a company and, by God, you’re going to start acting like it.”  
  
Jeremy clenches his fists, biting on the inside of his cheek so hard he begins to taste the metallic tang of blood. Every muscle is taut and he spits out two tiny words that send Eric’s nostrils flaring, eyes going wide and teeth clenching.  
  
“Jeremiah Heere.”  
  
Within seconds, Jeremy is out of his chair, storming to the front door. Behind him, he can hear Eric stand as well, calling out a threat. “Walk out that door. I dare you.”  
  
Jeremy turns slightly, the weight of the world crashing on his chest as he growls a short “Gladly” and slams the door.  
  
It’s cool outside, biting enough that Jeremy wishes he had something heavier, but the sky is clear and the breeze feels nice against his face and in his hair. It makes him forget for a split second why he was so angry in the first place.  
  
Oh, right. Because his life is an astronomical joke of drastic proportion.  
  
Maybe, on any other occasion, Jeremy would have walked down the drive without turning and looking back. Now, though, as he feels two raging eyes trained on him, he finds the nerve to turn. As expected, Eric stands at the window looking ten times as pissed off as he usually does. Something in Jeremy sparks, that last match of rebellion to—say--light the last candle on the cake. With his head held high, he sticks both middle fingers up higher and quickly turns, sprinting down the rest of the way in a burst of teenage glee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear by the new year, I'll be updating frequently. It's just...exams and then the holidays it was a lot so have a small, intense update. Not the happiest chapter, but there will be new people coming up   
> Thanks for reading! (and waiting)  
> Adios

**Author's Note:**

> I promise, it's gonna get better.  
> Let me know what you think!  
> (Read: I'm needy and crave love.)  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
